


Soul Generation

by PlumTea



Series: Horror A La Carte [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Homecoming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: In an impromptu homecoming, Oikawa and Iwaizumi make one trip back to Kitagawa Daiichi. Sometimes, the past never really goes away.





	Soul Generation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [riseelectric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseelectric/gifts), [notmykink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmykink/gifts).



> Day 4: One Who Drinks The Earth  
> vampire vs zombie / the unstoppable demon king / kaiju / leader of the pack / the thing that lives in the deep / gnarled horns / **seven school mysteries** / the cannibal next door / something in the shadows / an empty house at the end of the street / **ghosts y’all**  
>  For [Iwaoi Horror Week!](https://iwaoi-horror-week.tumblr.com/)

It’s been years since they last set foot in Kitagawa Daiichi’s halls. Neither Oikawa or Iwaizumi miss the collars of their gakuran itching their throats or the constant watchful gaze of the hall monitors making sure they don’t dawdle in the bathroom for too long, but still, this was a place where they spent three years. Three long years.

Oikawa’s not sure if he can really call this place nostalgic. When he tries to recall his middle school days, more bad comes to mind than good. Long hours of staring in the mirror, wondering if his awkward limbs would help him jump higher, and give him control over something he’s long since been unable to contain. Iwaizumi remembers something a little warmer, mostly the long minutes during practice, wondering why he was so dedicated to watching Oikawa before the answer hit him. It’s Iwaizumi who sees that even though Oikawa’s eyes are searching, they don’t look vivid. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Breaking out of his stupor, Oikawa shakes his head. He and Iwaizumi had planned to visit their middle school after they graduated from Aoba Jousai, and he wasn’t going to ruin their plans just because he can’t get over himself. It's their last trip before they take different paths into different universities. “No! No, this is fine. Let’s go.”

Somehow, nothing has changed but everything is different.

Iwaizumi takes in the halls that used to seem so wide. Even though the doors have been painted blue over gray and different jackets hang on the hooks in the back wall of each classroom, everything is still in place. Familiar squeaks of uniform shoes and the chatter of children. He looks to Oikawa, at how he’s staring hauntingly at the bulletin board but not taking in the pictures on it. “Middle school was rough,” he says. “Wasn’t it?”

“A little. But that was my fault.” Oikawa admits, first quietly then gaining strength. “What a place this is though. ‘You and Kageyama, what’s wrong with your middle school?’ Hanamaki said. Can you believe it?”

“I guess we have our fair share of mentally unstable--”

“Who’s mentally unstable!”

Oikawa huffs, but Iwaizumi slaps him on the back. Together, they feel a little more solid.

“You think Coach is still teaching?”

“You know the old man. He’ll quit when the school’s going to be demolished, and not a day sooner.”

 

* * *

 

“The team might be disbanded?” Oikawa can’t stop himself from slamming his hands on the desk. “Coach, why?”

Coach Kudou looks the same as always, same lines under old eyes, but age has tugged down his cheeks and padded his eyes with dark circles. The tough fingers that would point out their flaws are wrinkled and pale. “There hasn’t been many signups this year.”

“Why not? The school has enough of a reputation. There’s always kids that want to get into sports with a good team!”

A pensive look casts over Coach Kudou’s face. He swallows a sigh that heaves his whole body. “I hate to admit it, but someone has a grudge against the sports teams this year. Especially the volleyball team. ”

Iwaizumi looks around, made sure nobody else is listening. It may be the teacher’s lounge, but he knows just how sharp childrens’ ears become when they get curious. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice lowering.

“I don’t know what’s going on, to tell you the truth. But it seems that someone has been vandalizing the gym nearly every day. ”

“The guards haven’t caught them? Doing that every day is commitment. Someone must have seen them.”

Coach Kudou scratches his head. “You know to tell you, there have been some rumors. They say a kid causing all the trouble, but I don’t believe it. None of the students’ attendance stands out, we already checked. Besides, the things that’s been done… no kid could do that. And I hate to say it, but if this goes on, we might have to disband the volleyball team.”

 

* * *

 

“You heard about the gym?”

“Yeah! I heard this time someone tore down the basketball hoops!”

“There’s no way it’s going to get repaired anytime soon. Hey, you really think a student did it?”

“Do you think it’s Kumagi from Class C?”

“No way idiot, he’s just sick!

“Well, they’re just rumors. You know, rumors.”

 

* * *

 

“I can’t believe we’re breaking and entering.”

“We broke and entered several times when we were kids, remember?”

“I can’t believe we’re grown adults, breaking and entering again.”

“Iwa-chan, where’s your spirit? Someone’s trying to destroy the team. We have to do something.”

Oikawa had suggested the idea and Iwaizumi had followed, as always. It wasn’t the first time they’d snuck into Kitagawa overnight, flashlights in hands and shivering through the cold. Unlike before, purpose fuels their limbs and keeps them warm in the chilly air. It might not be their responsibility, but they have a responsibility to know. This was their old team, their old memories.

“This feels like sneaking in to find the seven mysteries again.”

Every school seemed to have the same mysteries, no matter what. The anatomical model that walks in the hallway, red paper or blue paper, the haunted music room, the mysterious thirteenth step, teke teke, Hanako, or the empty ball bouncing in the gym. One time, Iwaizumi had thought he had solved the empty ball mystery but no, it was just Oikawa spending more time in the gym than he should.

“And we never found any of them!”

“You waited for Hanako in the bathroom for an hour.”

“And she never showed herself!”

Neither of them were really that sure if they believed in the mysteries, or if it was just something that they came to believe because everyone else did. Whatever they felt was enough to propel Oikawa into huddling in the bathroom stalls with nothing but the clothes on his back. Cramped and shivering as everything reeked, but he still waited for a ghost that never came.

“There’s no ghosts this time,” Oikawa says. “Only people. And we’re going to find whoever is doing this.”

“Nobody messes with our middle school team,” Iwaizumi speaks what they’re both thinking.

Bright caution tape cordons off the gym from the public, but it’s nothing they can’t slip under. With the gym abandoned, the doors aren’t locked like they used to be, and all it takes is a few jiggles of the handle to let them pass.

Coach was right, there was no way a kid could have done this. The bleachers have been completely overturned, like they were tossed aside by a furious giant. It’s hard to find a floorboard that hasn’t been torn up or at least scratched. The basketball hoops that stood watch over each side of the gym have been forced to bend. Paint has been peeled off the walls in small strips, almost as if a child had tried to rake their nails across it a hundred times.

Iwaizumi nearly drops his flashlight. Gone is the tidy gym from their memories, and no matter how many times he compares the two, he can’t deny what’s in front of him. Oikawa’s legs shake, sending the thin line of his flashlight trembling across the room. After all, it’s one thing to imagine a demon, and another to see it appear right before your eyes.

“Why would anyone do this?” Iwaizumi asks. “Who could’ve done this?”

All of this would be impossible without tools, and definitely not by just one person. Definitely not by a kid, as the rumors say.

The locker room is still standing, but someone has shattered the small window and caked the floor with petals. They might have been fresh before but now they’re brown and rotten, and whisk a foul perfume around the small space. Oikawa’s hand flies to his nose. The smell is worse than being put on garbage duty. Still, this is in much better condition compared to the rest of the place.

Iwaizumi tries one of the lockers. Shut tight. Even if he opened them, he doubted he would’ve found anything of importance. They’re all sealed shut, no hope of breaking them open. “Well, there’s nothing here. Let’s go--”

Any response Oikawa could have mustered is silenced by one of the locker doors slamming open. That’s impossible, but most importantly--

“Iwa-chan, that’s my old locker.”

It was Oikawa’s, with Iwaizumi’s right next to him. Rumor has it that after they graduated, Kageyama had taken up that locker too.

Oikawa sees a flicker of movement in the doorway, and when he whirls around, the door rattles, like someone had just fled. “Someone’s here with us,” he realizes with dawning horror. “The vandal, I don’t know. Out there!”

He leaps towards the door with Iwaizumi close behind him, but doesn’t get far before a volleyball collides with his face. Oikawa gasps, stumbling, and meets another one when he takes another step.

Picking it up, Iwaizumi hurls it into the empty space, yelling, “Enough!”

Bounce, bounce, bounce. It comes to a sudden halt and is knocked aside, as if someone gave it a strong kick. All of Iwaizumi’s instincts tell him to run, but Oikawa pushes his way into the gym and Iwaizumi has no choice but to follow.

Nobody is there but them, and a breeze rustles Oikawa’s hair. A breeze? But even though the gym is in disrepair, the windows have been sealed tight. How could a breeze be hitting them from the front?

Something hits his leg and he goes stumbling, catching his balance at the very last second. It’s then that he notes something in the middle of the gym, something he can’t properly make out even when he squints.

It’s impossible to trace the edges of a mirage, but it’s shaped somewhat like a young boy. Slender, and those might be an outline of sneakers. As soon as their eyes adjust, the image fades away again.

Oikawa looks to Iwaizumi, and from the horror he sees, he knows this isn’t a hallucination.

The shape molds around a fallen volleyball and launches it through the skylight. Glass shards hail down, each snap of glass hitting the floor makes them flinch, but the cloud billows as if it’s laughing and fuming.

“A ghost?” Iwaizumi mumbles.

“A ghost that hates volleyball?” Oikawa asks, equally bewildered.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Iwaizumi mutters, and not even he knows whether he’s talking about the specter or its state of mind. “What’s the point of all this?”

The cloud twists around the cart and picks it up, sending it crashing into the wall. A wheel falls off and goes spiraling, rolling to a stop by the fallen shards.

“Hey!” Iwaizumi yells. “Why are you destroying the gym? What do you have against volleyball?”

It has already picked up a fallen ball, but then it pauses. Hand-shaped vapor gathers around it, misty fingers digging into the taut surface. With a swish, the ball is heaved back, about to be thrown.

“You actually like volleyball, don’t you?”

Oikawa’s words freeze the ball in place. A great wind kicks up, first no more than a brush over their cheeks and a razored whirlwind in less than a second. Dust and debris are swept up into the storm, and a glass shard just misses Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Iwaizumi grimaces as a shard snips his ear. “Why would anyone destroy something that they care so much about?”

If Iwaizumi doesn’t know, then Oikawa isn’t going to tell him. Some things are easier to not explain. Through the chaos Oikawa sees the vapor condense into a young boy again, crouching with his head in his hands, and Oikawa knows that he’s right.

He finds his feet. His nails scrabble between the floorboards as he rises up, finally. All the air down his throat dries it rough, and dust stings his eyes. Pressure whirls around the being like a terrible storm, a void in the eye of the hurricane.

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi calls out, but Oikawa keeps going.

Braving the storm, Oikawa goes forward. One step, and a slice of wind rips a line down his wrist. Second, and his cheek becomes spotted with blood. Into the typhoon, he yells, “You wanted to play volleyball, didn’t you?”

The winds still rage, but a reflective shiver whirls through them. How familiar this shudder is! Frustration, tears shed at constant losses, high hopes, being unable to follow through, nobody else following through… how desolate. Standing on the court, alone. Standing on the court, the loser. Resentment, rage, hatred.

“You didn’t want to lose. You just wanted to be the best. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t make it, could you? Hard work lied to you. You hated everyone. You hated yourself.”

The thing pauses, an eye of the hurricane.

“Is that why you keep destroying the gym?” Iwaizumi quietly asks. “Because you can’t manage it yourself, and you don’t want anyone else to shine?”

Resentment piles. It stacks and overflows and drowns.

“It’s okay, it’s not the end of the world. Even if it feels like it, and it really does.”

A howl, and the winds rage again. Its nebulous presence sharpens, and it looks like Oikawa, like Kageyama, like anyone who tried and failed. Oikawa stumbles back, but Iwaizumi catches him.

“You know, I hit the end of the world myself. But this guy behind me saved me. Some things… you don’t have to take on by yourself. You can’t win them all, and you can’t always be perfect. But you can continue on.”

With another push forward, Oikawa reaches the shape and places a hand on its shoulder. Beneath his fingers are the last breaths of dying coal. The breath of a living corpse, the same one that Oikawa had turned himself into, all those years back. How he wished that someone would have told him back then that he was swimming in mud! He was drowning, and nobody would save him, nobody, nobody but--

Iwaizumi walks into the storm, and they stand there together. He sees the vague outline of the young boy and finally understands. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way. But…” the words catch in his throat, “if you love something, the pain’s worth it. Because one day, you’ll really shine. I know it sounds like bullshit, but if you get angry and give up, that’s that. There’s no getting better.”

“You know, we may not look like it, but we really love volleyball. We didn’t give up here.” Even if he almost did, a long time ago. “Your big brothers are going to keep going. You should too, just don’t ruin it for everyone else, okay?”

Beneath their fingertips, the vapor trembles. It wriggles, like the steady roll of shed tears, and dissipates with a sigh. They feel a tug on their fingers in the shape of a young hand, gentle, sorrowful, thankful. All the winds twisting around them calms, and soon the dust sifts back into place, and they are alone.

They look at each other, at how debris have left tiny cuts all along their bodies that now have the chance to bleed and dust has padded their clothes. All the aches return in a massive flood, but they collapse together, laughing all the while.

“Childhood was terrible,” Oikawa admits. “I never want to go back to being a kid again.”

“Me neither. You were awful.”

“I was not! Alright, maybe just a little...”

Exhaustion creeps in, and Oikawa looks at the wreckage. Maybe if he had gone down the wrong path, perhaps… but no. After all, he has a partner that he can rely on. As an ally, and an enemy.   

“Are you really going to continue playing?” Oikawa asks. “I’ll see you on the court, won’t I?”

“Oh yeah. And I’m going to kick your ass. I don’t know how far I’ll get, but I’ll try.”

Laughter bubbles from Oikawa’s chest because here he nearly collapsed, here he nearly imploded and took Iwaizumi with him, and here he knows they can keep trying anyway. There’s always time.

Iwaizumi reaches towards Oikawa’s hand and squeezes tight. “Let’s go home.”

Dusty and dirty and bloody they rise, going hand in hand to wherever the world takes them.


End file.
